


a little help from my friends

by thehungagayums



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Modern Setting Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, bellamy takes care of clarke, bellarke drabble, cuteness ensues, sick clarke griffin, the 100 au, this is really stupid im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehungagayums/pseuds/thehungagayums
Summary: Still, it’s nice to have Bellamy here. He’s her one of her best friends, probably her best friend, and even though he’s always grumbling about something under his breath, he’s always been the nurturing type. Probably something to do with how he basically raised Octavia from the time they were kids, and he hasn’t been able to shake the habit of taking care of people he cares about.He’s her best friend, and she’s a little bit in love with him, if she’s being honest. Has been, for a few years now, and she’s pretty sure that he thinks of her as a little sister. The fact that he dropped everything to nurse her back to health pretty much confirms that—Clarke knows he’d do nothing less for Octavia, who obviously put him up to this whole thing.[AU where Clarke is sick before the holidays and Bellamy takes care of her.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stupid Tumblr drabble but I feel like we could all use a little Bellarke fluff right about now, so enjoy!

It’s three days before Christmas and Clarke is sick.

Like, a 101 degree fever and shivering under a blanket while curled up in the fetal position on the couch, sick. And it’s truly unfortunate timing because she’s supposed to be getting on a plane to visit her mom in Seattle for the holidays, but since she can barely open her eyes to dial her mom’s number, it doesn’t look like she’s going to make that flight.

And, because the universe apparently hates her, all of her friends are leaving town, too. So she’s sick and alone for the holidays. Perfect.

Clarke calls her mom, who’s disappointed but also in full-on doctor mode. She tells Clarke to drink plenty of fluids and to take a few aspirin to bring the fever down. Clarke murmurs in assent, then hangs up the phone feeling miserable.

She texts Octavia to tell her, and to whine a little bit about how shitty this holiday is shaping up to be. She knows that O is driving up to Maine with Lincoln to finally meet his parents, knows that there’s nothing that Octavia can do for her, but she’s being petulant, and fine, maybe she likes the attention.

The second she hits ‘send,’ her phone lights up with a call from Octavia.

“O, please don’t worry,” Clarke says weakly before Octavia can say anything. “I’m gonna be fine, I promise. It’s just a fever.”

“Look, Clarke, if I wasn’t stuck on the Mass Turnpike right now in bumper to bumper traffic, I’d turn this car around and come back for you. You shouldn’t be alone like this.” Octavia sighs. “Is there anyone around who can take care of you? Raven, or Harper?”

Clarke swallows hard. “Um, Raven and Wells are skiing, and pretty much everyone else is seeing their families.”

“Fuck,” Octavia breathes. But then she brightens. “Wait, maybe Bell can take care of you! His dickhead manager is making him work double shifts at the Ark this week, but if he can find someone to cover his shift at the bar, then he could—”

“Hey,” Clarke cuts in. “I think I can take care of myself. You know I went to med school, right?”

Octavia groans. “You’re so stubborn sometimes.” After a beat, she asks, “So you’re sure that you’re gonna be okay? All alone on Christmas with a fever?”

“Don’t remind me,” Clarke sighs. “But, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Well, all right,” Octavia says, reluctant. “But if you need anything at all—”

Clarke manages a weak smile. “I know who to call.”

Somehow, she falls asleep on the couch, even though every muscle in her body is aching and she’s shivering uncontrollably. When her eyes open with some difficulty hours later, it’s dark outside and most of the lights in her living room are turned off, so she’s completely disoriented. She hears a key turning in the lock and the door creaking open, but she’s too weak to pick herself up off the couch so she just stays curled up in a ball on the sofa.

The lights flip on overhead. “God, it’s like you’re living in a cave,” she hears a familiar voice grumble, and in spite of her throbbing temples, she lifts her head up to find Bellamy standing in her living room.

“Bell,” she croaks. “What are you—”

“O called,” he says, setting down an armload of grocery bags on the kitchen island. “Said you were sick.”

Clarke nods, with some effort. “You didn’t have to come over.”

“Of course, I did,” Bellamy says, dismissive. He starts unloading the bags, packing food away into the fridge. “You’re sick, and you’re stuck at home for Christmas. What are friends for?”

She pulls her fuzzy throw blanket tighter around her shoulders and forces herself to sit up. “I thought you had to work.” She frowns at his back while he kneels in front of the fridge, moving her food around on the shelves to make room for whatever it is he brought with him. “You should be at work.”

“And _you_ should be in bed,” Bellamy shoots back, but when he pokes his head out from her fridge, his eyes are warm and fond. “Actually, on second thought. Do you think you can make it upstairs?”

Clarke rolls her eyes—huge mistake, because her head is already pounding. “Yes,” she says stoutly, and tries to stand up from the couch just to prove it. But she’s dizzy, and her legs are weak, and she kind of slumps back onto the cushions.

Bellamy tries to bite back a smile, but she catches the corner of his lip twitching and pouts.

“I’m sick,” she whines, plaintive, and his face softens.

“Okay,” he says, and he closes the fridge door with a soft thud, before crossing into the room to kneel beside her. “Where would you rather be? Here on the couch, or in your bed?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “Bellamy…”

“Upstairs, it is,” he decides, and before she can find the energy to protest, he scoops her limp body off the couch and tucks her into his broad chest. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, breathes in the scent of him, and it's warm, familiar. His gray merino sweater tickles her cheek.

“Bell,” she murmurs, but he just shushes her and she can’t tell him that he’s already doing way too much for her, and then she falls asleep as he carries her up the stairs to her room.

She comes to a few minutes later in her bed, with her blankets and comforter tucked up under her chin. Bellamy pauses in the doorway, notices that she’s awake, and comes to sit on the edge of her bed next to her.

“Okay, I’ve got extra-strength Tylenol,” he says, setting the bottle down on her bedside table, “and I read online that if you can’t keep anything down, you should eat ice chips, so I’ve got those, too. And there’s plenty of chicken noodle soup in the fridge if you feel up to eating later.” His eyebrows are knitted together with concern. “And, if you get bored, I grabbed copies of _People_ and _Us Weekly_ at the store. No judgment.”

“Bellamy,” she tries again, but it’s an effort. She’s so tired.

His eyes widen, and it’s kind of endearing. “What is it? What do you need?”

“No, I just—thank you,” Clarke manages to say. “You didn’t need to do this.”

He shrugs. “No, maybe not. But I wanted to.” Bellamy rises from the bed, flicks off her bedside lamp. “Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

She listens to him pad down the stairs, and it’s comforting to hear him moving around in her kitchen, to know that someone’s here with her, even though she swore she didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

Still, it’s nice to have Bellamy here. He’s her one of her best friends, probably her best friend, and even though he’s always grumbling about something under his breath, he’s always been the nurturing type. Probably something to do with how he basically raised Octavia from the time they were kids, and he hasn’t been able to shake the habit of taking care of people he cares about.

He’s her best friend, and she’s a little bit in love with him, if she’s being honest. Has been, for a few years now, and she’s pretty sure that he thinks of her as a little sister. The fact that he dropped everything to nurse her back to health pretty much confirms that—Clarke knows he’d do nothing less for Octavia, who obviously put him up to this whole thing.

She sighs, and burrows deeper into the cocoon of blankets. He’s here, and that’s enough.

* * *

 

The fever breaks, and Clarke is burning up. Bellamy presses damp towels to her forehead, and makes sure she takes enough Tylenol and drinks enough water. He makes a move to leave, but she grabs his hand, desperate.

“Don’t go,” she whimpers. It’s the fever, making her say stupid things.

So Bellamy obliges and settles in beside her on the bed while she dozes on and off for a few hours. It isn’t until morning that she realizes he’s been here for far too long.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asks, turning onto her side. Bellamy lifts a shoulder.

“I got Miller to cover for me,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

Bellamy smiles. “I’m taking care of you, Clarke. Don’t try to argue.”

At some point, he grabs her laptop and pulls up Netflix to distract her. They watch the Christmas episodes of _Friends_ , and _White Christmas_ , and when Bellamy decides that Clarke needs to sleep, he queues up a Ken Burns documentary about the Civil War because he’ll never let her live down the time she passed out on his couch when he first showed it to her.

But she’s restless. She shifts, trying to find a position that quells the ache in her back, her neck, her muscles, but nothing quite does the trick.

“Hey,” Bellamy says suddenly, glancing over at her. “You okay?”

Clarke huffs. “Everything hurts,” she complains. She’s being such a child, but she’s past the point of caring. “I just—can’t get comfortable.”

He frowns, looking concerned. “Okay. Here, let me just—um.” Bellamy eases Clarke onto her side, so that her back is facing him. She starts to ask him what he’s doing when she feels his hands gently kneading her shoulders, his thumbs digging into the plane between her shoulder blades, and she sighs into her pillow.

She feels him drag his fingernails lightly across her back and down her arm, and somehow, on her feverish skin, it feels incredible. Her eyes start to flutter shut.

“Good?” he murmurs, and Clarke nods in sleepy assent. She can hardly form the words.

A smile creeps into his voice. “Okay.”

* * *

She starts to feel better sometime around Christmas Eve. The fever goes down, and she’s strong enough to sit up on her own and eat some soup without feeling sick to her stomach. She’s okay now, and she tells Bellamy as much.

“You don’t have to stick around,” she says. “You’ve done plenty.”

“So you want me to leave and let you spend Christmas all by yourself?” Bellamy asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “Nope. Sorry.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she laughs. “That, and Octavia would literally murder you.”

“True.”

“She’s protective over me, what can I say?”

Bellamy smiles at her, bumping her shoulder with his own. “Feeling strong enough to go downstairs for a bit?”

“Yeah.” Clarke eases herself off the bed, but casts a warning glance over her shoulder. “Don’t even think about trying to carry me, Blake.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dare cross you, princess.”

She’s stunned, to say the least, when she reaches the bottom step and finds that he’s set up a tiny Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. It’s a good two feet tall, but it has cute little lights, and she’s completely blown away that he actually did this.

Clarke turns to him, her eyes watering a little, and he just ducks his head sheepishly.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, that you’d rather be at your mom’s and, you know, not sick with a fever, but I thought… I don’t know. I thought it might be nice to make it kind of festive.”

Clarke chokes out a laugh. “And here I thought you were such a Grinch all along.”

“Hey, I’m full of surprises, Clarke.” Bellamy smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Her heart aches. She wants to kiss him, so badly, but she’s still kind of sick and she doesn’t think she could handle the rejection right now. So instead, she steps into his arms and rests her head against his chest.

“Have I thanked you yet?” she asks, and she feels his laugh rumble in his chest.

“Um, just a couple of times.”

“Well, thank you.” Clarke glances up at him. “Seriously.”

If she didn’t love him before, well, she does now.

* * *

They spend all of Christmas just lounging around in sweats and drinking mocha, and even though she’s still popping pain relievers left and right, Clarke is pretty sure that this is one of the best Christmases she’s ever had.

“You’re way too happy for someone who just spent three days being my nurse,” Clarke prods while they’re sprawled out on the sofa later that night. She’s never seen him smile that much in their entire friendship. It’s ridiculous. “Spill.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Oh, like it was that hard to take care of you.”

“Bell. I was sweaty and gross and whiny. That could not have been fun.” Clarke gives him a pointed look and nudges him in the side. “What gives?”

His gaze shifts and settles on the tree in the corner. “You were far from gross,” he says finally, but his tone is clipped, subdued.

“High praise.”

Bellamy snorts, but he doesn’t say anything else.

She touches his arm. “What’s up?”

Finally, he looks at her. He breathes in deep. “It’s weird, but this is probably one of the better holidays I’ve had,” he says. “I mean, it was never great growing up, not with my mom losing her job all the time and living in different crappy apartments. I’ve never… I don’t remember the last time I’ve been this…” He sighs. “ _Happy_ seems so cliché.”

Clarke smiles softly. “I know.”

“I have you to thank for that.” Bellamy fixes her with a serious look, his eyes dark and solemn. “So, thank you, princess.”

She leans her head against his shoulder. “You’re not such bad company yourself.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Then he clears his throat.

“Clarke.”

She lifts her head to look at him. His eyes are warm, full of something that she can’t quite put a finger on. Before she can say anything, he leans in slowly and kisses her.

It’s nothing like she imagined. Bellamy’s stoic, with a tough exterior, and Clarke always thought there’d be sparks and jolts behind his kiss, thrumming in her blood. But it’s warm, and soft. He's gentle with her, his lips ghosting on hers before he leans in all the way and tugs her bottom lip between his own. She feels... safe. Home. That doesn't come as a surprise to her. He's always been different with her. Softer, sweeter. 

His hands move up to cup her face, and she threads her fingers through his curls. But before she can deepen the kiss, he pulls away gently and presses his forehead against hers.

“You know, I didn’t do this for O,” he murmurs, absently twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. “I just wanted to be here, with you.”

Clarke leans into him for another kiss. “I know.” She kisses him again. “You don’t know how much I love that you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on Tumblr! You can find me there as thehungagayums, and I basically live and breathe Bellarke so feel free to join me.


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